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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656295">you almost got away; the times benny weir refused to get dirty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithundead/pseuds/keithundead'>keithundead</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Babysitter's A Vampire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cowboys &amp; Cowgirls, M/M, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, Wild West</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:47:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithundead/pseuds/keithundead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>1800's oregon. life in the eyes of a very cynical 5th grader who grew into a very cynical vampire hunter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rory Keaner/Benny Weir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 10. dust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Benny Weir is getting too old for this shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seriously, when the average person croaks at 40, he should be enjoying his retirement in Florida by now. Well, he’d have to retire first- but that’s not the point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has a list of things he’s sick and tired of dealing with; the list started becoming a thing when he was ten years old, and there’s exactly 10 items on it. He started making lists when he was 9, but figured he wouldn’t be able to keep up with something new everyday. So, he made a list that consisted of one thing he hated for each year, up until he was 20. After 20, he figured he was getting too old for making up shit to hate, so he stopped writing it. He’d be retiring after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny’s list, from greatest to least annoyance, ended with:</span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span> Dust </span></li>
</ol>
<p>
  <span>In the west, dust is everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s always hated being forced to play in the park. He couldn’t stand the dirt and dust that would build up on his clothes, and nobody seemed to care. He’d complain to his grandma every day about how rough the other boys would be. One day, she’d become fed up with his complaining, and said four words that would come up in his conversations with almost everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do something about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still looks back fondly at the words, it made him feel like he could do anything. After that, he never got roughed up on the playground again. The other boys knew what it felt like firsthand to fuck with Benny Weir. He’d whisper eerie curses in their ears, make them run to their guardians in tears, and chuckle to himself at the fearful look in the eyes of fourth grade. Nobody would wrestle him, push him, kick him, not even the teachers in his school would rustle his hair in endearment. He had every right to elicit fear in his peers, he hated dust after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although, there was one boy in his playground. A new boy, one who didn’t know about his dust avoidance policy. He made Benny… confused. He didn’t know what it felt like to be confused by anyone, as people were always very clear with him. This boy wasn’t clear with him, however. He made remarks that made no sense, jokes that wouldn’t land, and his imagination was far too vast for Benny’s comfort level. To this day, he still doesn’t know whether he likes him or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His name was Ethan, and he was a year younger than him. While they were in the same grade, Ethan was still the youngest of their class, making him a target for the boys that were too scared to go after Benny. Benny remembers, from time to time, writing in his earlier list “people who make fun of Eaten” because he wasn’t too sure how to spell his name. It was an innocent mistake, but he’s pretty sure he called him Eaten instead of Ethan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day, the playground was particularly crowded. Benny thought nothing of it, just a group of kids bigger than he was playing some sort of… tag? Something? He didn’t care, he had a list to make. There was still something that bothered him, an annoying presence that made his skin grow goosebumps, something that forced him to look in the direction of the other kids. He picked up his lunch bag, turning around on his bench to pay proper attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard crying, strained wailing that piqued his interest. Not a lot of school related events interested him, but when someone he knew was upset, he tried to intervene (if he wasn’t the one who caused it. He sauntered towards the group surrounding the kid, and he pushed his way into the center to see who it was, careful to not get his shoes dirty from nearby dirty castles. Lo and behold, there was Ethan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The younger boy was crying his eyes out. He was holding his head between his knees and rocking back and forth like a baby in a swaying cradle. Benny wanted to grab him by his collar and tell him to stop crying already, but he knew better than that, so he got someone else to do it for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see him?” he whispers to a random kid next to him. “Tell him to quit crying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doing as he was told, the kid shoved Ethan and told him “Benny says don’t cry” which earned a sharp slap in the back of his head from Benny himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say you could hit him. Move.” without crouching too low (in fear of dirt), he got low enough to look at Ethan’s tear stained face. He had a better way of dealing with people, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re Ethan, right?” Benny asked, trying his best to put on a kind voice. The school bell rang, signaling it was time to go, and kids were scampering back to their classrooms. Benny decided this was more important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his dirty hands in a way that made Benny wince. “Y-yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to cry, Ethan.” Benny was sure this was going to go well, because Ethan seemed like the type of boy to listen to every word he said. Hopefully, if Ethan knew what was good for him, he’d listen. “Grandma says ‘ain’t nuttin worth cryin’ ‘bout.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan giggled, it was a sad giggle, but Benny saw that as getting through to him. He still had a tremble in his voice, and a wobble in his lips, but they were making progress. Laughing at Benny’s weird grandma would never slide with anyone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those fellas called my momma a witch.” Ethan’s waterworks started back up again. He was crying up a big storm, wailing and hiccuping like it was his job. Benny found it… extra troublesome, to say the least. He didn’t like the sound of babies crying at all, and this definitely reminded him of his cousin Pablo when he was smaller. Not to mention, if there’s any witches in this part of Oregon, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> family, not poor little Ethan and his normal parents. They wouldn’t know a witch of Benny came up and bit them- which he’s done before, but that’s not the point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that in mind, Benny had an idea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Imma witch,” he confessed, knowing the sobbing boy wouldn’t dare tell a soul, “and me and my grandma don’t care nun.” most of the adults in town didn’t know, aside from estranged family members.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I know… that’s what I tried to tell ‘em.” Ethan looked guilty, almost ashamed. “They told me only witches believed in other witches. An-and my momma was a witch too.” it dawned on him that <em>Ethan </em>was the one following him and his grandma in the woods that one suspicious night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood in silence. A teacher came outside to scold them, and Benny was fuming with rage. Silent rage, but rage nonetheless. She dragged them by their ears to the schoolhouse, and Ethan wouldn’t stop crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny knew never to tell anyone about being a witch ever again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 9. the occult</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Another thing Benny hated, even more than dust, was being a witch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grandmother was technically an earth priestess; this led to a complex set of rules and titling that Benny didn't want to deal with. In the end, he called himself a witch. He didn't care for proper labeling or ritualistic titles, he just didn't want to be one. Their family took pride in their cult-like habits, yet Benny knew at a young age that there was something wrong about the way they used magic. Something Benny assumed to be… evil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thanks to his grandma, he knew a few spells and curses. He used the same curses to scare off boys in the playground who thought he was speaking nonsense. Ethan was someone who actually knew about his power and came to (fear) accept it. Benny didn't care about ethan, either. He was starting big kid school now, with swearing and pocket knives and even more fights. He was excited about that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan was a whole other story, he’s become strangely quiet. We wouldn’t do anything during playtime, wouldn’t annoy the older kids with made up stories or try to pin Benny for being a witch. The teachers paid more attention to him now, and it made him a bit envious. He wanted to be the center of attention in the eyes of teachers, nothing could’ve been that important for Ethan to get all the recognition. He wanted eyes, love, fear, he wanted things to go back to the way they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Big kid school would be different. Benny would have a fresh start. No bothersome Ethan, no dusty sandlots, just big kids doing big kid stuff. He smiled at the thought as he did his yard work. This summer would only lead to great things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Benny!" a shrill, puny voice shouts from the house. grandma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, Grandma?" he shouted back, setting down his shovel into the barren parts of their garden. He didn't receive an answer, which meant he had to come inside to see what all the ruckus was about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma was shoving clothes into a large bag. Benny's stomach dropped. The last time she packed a bag, they were in Oregon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Get yer things. We leavin'." she, for once in her life, sounded panicked. As if she couldn't quite explain the situation. Benny didn't know if "leaving" meant going to see cousin Pablo, or leaving to another country. He hoped it wasn’t either of those things, cousin Pablo was a big jerk and anything foreign made him anxious. He didn’t know anything outside of his home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No." Benny stated. He wasn't gonna just up and leave Oregon. He had people to jokingly torture- boys to make cry! He was not gonna leave. He knew this town sucked, but he wanted to stay. None of this was fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma scoffed, "no? You ain't gonna come with me, big man?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No! Not 'till you tell me where we goin'." he crossed his arms, hoping his 11 year old posture would intimidate the poor old lady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I ain't got to tell you jack shit, Benward. We leavin', and that's final." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated the sound of his real name, he couldn't remember the first person to use it, but they sure as hell felt sorry for themselves after. Nobody in this pick headed town was gonna call him that. not even grandma. He knew she was hiding something, and he wasn't about to sit idly by while he got pushed around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I. Don’t. Wanna." he punctuated each word by shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh yeah, big man?" this time she folded her arms, "do something about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny cast his arm forward, summoning the arcane power he had inside him for one moment. A sudden surge of energy emerged from his fingertips. A wave of pure magic was sent through the house; it knocked over vases, the bag of clothes, even picture frames. Everything... except Grandma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That all you got?" she held out her hand above him, ready to strike. Benny could tell she was bluffing, but that magic wave used up a lot of his stamina, he was having trouble standing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... yeah." he sounded defeated, he was crushed at the realization that he'd never be as strong as his grandma. He hated being bad at magic. One day he’d be old enough to take Grandma down, then she’d see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then pack up. We're catching the first train out of here." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 8. cousins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>And of course, there was the matter of cousin Pablo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He deserved a list all on his own with how he acted when it came to Benny. Teasing and jeering and shoving as best as he could, he made sure Benny was living an in-real-life nightmare. He was a bully (even more so than Benny), and nothing more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Grandma Weir made the decision that they would be moving in with cousin Pablo's family during their hiding period, he was furious. In a weird way, Benny missed Oregon, but he would never admit to it out loud. He missed the local (and obnoxious) jug band, the permanently grey skies, doing field work, the way muddy puddles outside the saloon reflected the bugs that would float over them. It was a dirty, dingy, mediocre life, but Benny supposed he had grown accustomed to it. He supposed he wasn't ready to let go quite yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crossed his arms as he sat down for dinner; Auntie Pearl and Uncle Byron served them what they liked to call a "Nevada specialty," but Benny wasn't buying it. He didn't like new food- he didn't like their food. He wanted to conjure something himself, make rabbit stew like grandma used to make, but this branch of the Weir family chose not to "delve into the devil's work." Whatever that meant, Benny and grandma didn't believe in the devil, so that was all nonsense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pablo didn't make dinner any less insufferable for him. The older boy would steal bits of his "food" when the adults weren't looking, and when he got the chance, he'd kick Benny straight in the shin. Hard. Benny wanted to scream, but he knew that's what Pablo wanted. That jackass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Benny's finished his act of pretending to eat, he dumps his leftovers and goes to the living room where he slept. the floor wasn't comfortable, but he figured that because he was already in his pajamas, he'd go to sleep. He got underneath his single blanket, resting his head on his stone cold pillow. He hates the small talk the adults are making during their meal, so he blurts a straightforward "goodnight" to let them know that he needed sleep. He refused to be interrupted. Grandma knew that much, and she respected it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Goodnight, Lucifer." taunted Pablo, taking it upon himself to adorn Benny with a new nickname. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll see you in Hell."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The following week was full of yard work- more importantly, yard work with cousin Pablo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They slaved under the sun together, Benny doing most of the work while Pablo sipped from a cup of water all day. He made Benny do half of his work along with his own load of chores to do while the adults were gone. It wore Benny's brain down to its core, the work. He felt like he never got a break, never got a chance to show Pablo what he was made of, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like the chores were difficult, either. All Benny had to do was clip the hedges that surrounded their house and clear out the rain gutters. Thanks to Pablo, he had to do all that plus whatever else his cousin couldn’t be bothered to do. One day, he refused to do his cousin's work. Pablo got so mad at him, his skinny face went beet red and he clenched his fists until they were stark white.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And what makes you think I wont force you, you little fuck?" he spat in a tone, one where Benny couldn't decide if he sounded like a snake or a swarm of teenage bees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This prompted Benny to cast his hand forward, sending Pablo three feet back with pure, magical force. The older boy landed on his ass, snorting and huffing like an angered mule. Benny chuckled quietly, a small smirk painted on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That." he crossed his arms, peering down at Pablo with a natural-Benny-like smugness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, you little-” Pablo stood, dust falling off his slacks and dirt stains beginning to form on his over-sized shirt. Before he could walk over to Benny, the smaller boy sent another blast of magic his way, sending him tumbling to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ain’t picking up after you no more, jackass.” he said, then flicked off a speck of dust from his shoulder. Pablo got as red as a tomato, it was priceless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pablo only gave him more trouble after that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He used magic on me, Ma!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I didn't. He's lyin'." Benny lied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Auntie Evelyn, you know he did it! You know he got me all roughed up like this!" Pablo looked up at Grandma Weir, trying his best to gain sympathy. He was a mess after all, they fought for some time after Benny used his magic; Pablo resorted to kicks and punches while the younger boy resorted to hexes and curses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If the boy says he didn't use it, then he didn't use it. Now quit your blubberin' and help your momma start supper." she stated plainly, taking up her knitting equipment again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Pablo was huffing and puffing like he was about to blow someone's house down, Grandma Weir gave Benny a "attaboy" pat on the back. Benny smiled, knowing that he did the right thing.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 7. vampires</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s swirling fog around his ankles as he walks through the woods, a familiar scent of smoke and burned wood fills his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he’s dreaming, he knows he’s in the middle of something important, but he can’t quite place what it is. He’s walking slower than he wants, the typical speed of a dream. He runs his hands across the trees he passes, feeling the rough tree bark leave mini chips of wood in his fingers. The path he’s walking down has many trees, all lit up by the light of the moon. Up ahead, he can almost make out the source of the smoke smell: a fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” shouts a girl, who Benny can’t see. She sounds like she’s under water, another typical dream aspect. She’s close, but very far away at the same time. Benny feels himself leap out of his own body trying to reach for the voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around the fire, there’s sleeping bags; above the fire, a pot full of water is boiling, it looks as if there’s a slab of random meat inside. Benny wishes he could eat in dreams, because right now he’s fucking starving. To his right, there’s a tent. To his left, there’s-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was out of nowhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks. He still can’t talk in his dreams yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re here!” her big eyes are pleading up at him, as she seems to be much shorter, “please, we need your help. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The girl has wavy hair that drapes across her shoulders, caramel skin, and tears streaming down her face. Her accent isn’t anything Benny’s heard before, so she must be from the North.</span>
</p>
<p><span>The scene in his dream shifts, and the two of them are now inside the tent.</span> <span>He looks down to see a boy with blond hair writhing around on the floor. He’s clutching his shoulder, blood dripping from in between his fingers. The boy is, without a doubt, dying- and Benny has not a single clue as to what he’s meant to do. The girl is still crying, hunched over the boy as if he was her lifeline. Benny steps closer, above the boy, with his hand drawn forward. Then he remembers.</span></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t cast spells in the dream world.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason, this thought is heard. The girl looks up at him, “please, you have to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not right now, anyway. He wouldn’t even know what to do if he could. He backs away from the two, tears starting to well up in his own eyes. Grandma was right, he should’ve been at a higher level in his spell-mastering, yet here he was, utterly useless in his own dream. He couldn’t help anybody. The girl knew this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning her head, soft brown eyes have now gone a bright, yet pale, yellow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bares her teeth at him, and two sets of fangs spring out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benny wakes up with Pablo staring directly at him- over him, actually. He’s standing over him. When Pablo notices Benny staring back at him, he flinches and turns away from him, walking to the dining room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny squints from the sunlight pouring in from a nearby window, getting uncomfortable (shocker) from his spot on the floor. He gets up to walk to the dining area, sitting down at his spot at the table. Auntie Pearl sets his breakfast down in front of him, an arrangement of eggs (which made Benny gag at the sight of them), meat strips, and something gooey inside a bowl. He hated eating at their place, all their food was so… mortal. Benny is more accustomed to the liver, tails, and bone marrow of various animals- not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>eggs </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them. He eats most of it anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breakfast is interrupted by a rhythmic knock at the door. Benny recognizes it for a second, but the memory is lost. Grandma Weir, who is sitting across from him, stares at him with wide, expectant eyes, is giving him the creeps. The rest of the family sit around the table in uncomfortable silence. Benny decides enough is enough, and that he’s tired of everyone’s awkwardness. There’s another series of knocks at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get it.” Benny gets up from the table, then makes his way towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Benny, wait-” Auntie Pearl says, well, more like warns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring her, Benny opens the door, and is met with the face of a man who he thought he’d never see again. There, in all five feet and eight inches of himself, stands his father. He makes a face at the man, and then slams the door back in his face. He should’ve recognized that knock- that stupid tune he used to play for Benny as a baby to help him sleep. That stupid tune that gets stuck in his head and makes him think about his father again. The knock sounds again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I know y’all are in there.” shouts his father, “y’mind lettin’ me in?” he chuckles, as if him being there is any laughing matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Grandma Weir gets up to open the door, because Benny’s arms are crossed tightly to his chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He makes a show of making himself comfortable; he puts his feet on their coffee table, takes long gulps of homebrewed iced tea, and pats his stomach contentedly. Benny is, to say the least, disgusted with his manners (or lack of). He wants nothing more than to cast a shrinking spell on him, then step on his little body like the insect he is. Thanks to their entire little family being there, he had to keep his magic to himself. His father (along with Pablo) is the only non-witch family member in the living room. Benny thinks he shouldn’t be with them at all for that fact alone; his father doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>belong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with them. Ever since he was a little kid, his father’s made a point to be as annoying as possible. Being human made his annoyance even more pointed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he grunts with a foolish smile plastered across his face, “I hears y’all are stayin’ in Nevada for good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Weir is the first to reply, “yes, we are. It’s the safest place for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” he takes another swig of tea, “I heard they was killin’ ya off in Oregon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Weir’s eyes bulge out of her head as she looks over at Benny. Needless to say… for the year they’ve been living there… Benny had no clue that was why they moved. He feels lied to, to say the least. All this time he could’ve been kicking anti-witch ass and staying in Oregon, his home, his reason for waking up in the morning. Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I do reckon that’s, um, true.” she tries to feign a smile, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead. “Not to mention we uh, wanted to be closer to our family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think that’s good for the boy?” he points a finger at Benny for a second, talking about him as if he weren’t even there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t exactly have friends back home.” she laughs, as if it was something to laugh about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course he had friends at home! There was Ethan, who was terrified of him, and… actually, he supposes that Ethan might’ve been his only friend. He doubts anyone else back home would’ve remembered him as anything more than a force to not disturb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell, Ma, you could’ve made him some! The boy can’t be runnin’ ‘round without no friends, that just ain’t right.” he guffaws to himself, as if he said something amusing at all. Benny rolls his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aunt Pearl and Uncle Byron are both silent, looking back and forth between Grandma and Dad. They aren’t the confrontational type. It irks Benny that they don’t say anything- what a bunch of pushovers. Aside from those two, Pablo looks bored out of his little mind. Benny is bored as well, but he’ll be damned if he shows any emotion in front of his father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Benny?” Grandma Weir asks. Oh crap, they’ve been talking this whole time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head, then blinks rapidly, “what is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has a worried look on her face, but it’s replaced with a look of expectancy. “Would you like to spend time with your father today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny visibly rolls his eyes, of course she’d ask him that. His father is far too cowardly to ask himself, considering their relationship in the past. Grandma Weir (aside from Benny of course) is the only one in the family with any balls, any means of doing something. Of course she knows he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t want to be stuck doing chores all day either. The thing is, his father is much worse than chores, much worse than trimming hedges and pulling turnips all day. But again, he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to trim hedges, </span>
  <em>
    <span>or </span>
  </em>
  <span>pull turnips. The inner turmoil he’s experiencing- to pull or not to pull, to stay trapped in dingy farm life or be forced to trek in the Nevada sun. He hates decisions, he hates his father more than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, he is incredibly bored.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Today, I’m gonna show you the most important skill you’s gonna need in life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dad tosses it to him carelessly. It’s a good thing the safety’s on, or else Benny could’ve dropped it and probably would’ve gotten a bullet in the foot. He makes a face at him, which Dad doesn’t seem to notice. Bastard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs his own gun from his satchel, and makes a show of dusting it off with a handkerchief and kissing the barrel ever so gently. The beer he’s been drinking throughout the day is quickly emptied by him, and he sets the bottle down on a tree stump. He guides Benny to take some steps back, to the point where the bottle is a slightly smaller figure in the distance. They crouch below a larger tree stump together, and Dad begins to instruct him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, what ya need to do first is relax your shoulders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am relaxed,” Benny retorts, “this is just like casting spells.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dad makes a strange hyucking noise akin to a laugh, “boy, magic ain’t a man’s game. You can control magic all ya want, but guns? Guns’ll kill ya dead, no second chances. That’s man’s purest creation right there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny exhales angrily, finding his father’s philosophy of guns to be ridiculous. They’re just weapons that hurt people. Just like any old form of magic. He sighs, then “relaxes” his shoulders while aiming the gun at the bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When you squeezel the trigger, exhale. Show’s the gun who’s in control.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny imagines the bottle as his Dad’s dumb face, and exhales. The shot lands straight through the bottle. It breaks with a satisfying sound Benny’s never heard before, which earns a smile to start spreading across his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There ya go, boy!” Dad hollers, clapping him proudly on the shoulder. Benny flinches away at the touch, finding his father’s sweaty hands to be more than uncomfortable, but his smile still remains. “Knew you had a knack for it, just had to push it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the midst of Dad celebrating, they both hear a poisonous hiss coming from somewhere in the woods. The hiss sounds familiar to Benny, not like a snake, but as if it were something he’d  heard before. A devilish grin forms on Dad’s face, he shushes Benny, then cocks his own gun in the direction of the hissing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get up, boy,” he directs, “gonna show you what we’s out here shootin’ for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them creep through the woods together, the blinding sunlight beating down their backs as the sun begins to rise towards the center of the sky. The leaves crunch under their feet, and the weight of their guns are heavy in their pockets. Benny is tired of walking, but persists out of curiosity. He’s never been animal hunting, which he presumes this is, so he takes his father’s word for it being a “worthwhile experience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stop abruptly, Dad’s hand on Benny’s chest as if to warn him not to get too close. The hissing sound comes back, and Benny can’t see where it’s coming from while he’s behind Dad’s shoulder. He tries to peak, but it seems as if he’s purposefully being shielded from the view. Dad chuckles, then turns the gun’s safety off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I set up a trap here not too long ago, I think I caught one of ‘em.” he sounds proud of himself for once, which Benny thinks is odd. Benny decides he’s had enough and pushes his way past his father. His eyes widen at the figure in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A young man, scrunched up in the fetal position with a net wrapping around his entire body, lay writhing on the floor. He has short, black hair, dressed in a dark trench coat and shirt with slacks. He seemed to not wear any shoes, and his pale feet are exposed to the air and dirt of the woods. Benny notices, finally, where the hissing is coming from, and he remembers his dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man has sharp, pointed fangs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He writhes and hisses in the net, trying to bite and scratch his way out. The more he struggles, however, the more the net tightens. Dad whoops and hollers in excitement, taunting the young man right in front of him. Then, Dad points to his gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know what these is?” he asks Benny. “Silver bullets, I’ll tell ya what. Can kill anything without a soul, these can. Got em crafted by a blacksmith myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, they’re like magic?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not magic, no. Just powerful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Magic </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>powerful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny is ignored, which is typical, and his father hushes him instead of agreeing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna let you take this one, show you how powerful a silver bullet is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you mean, shoot him? I ain’t never shot nobody before.” Benny confesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This ain’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>body</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s a shell from the depths of the underworld. A vampire.” says Dad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benny’s only ever seen vampires in spellbooks, he thought they were all extinct creatures who walked the earth a long time ago. His eyes widen once more at the realization. His father wants him to kill something that looks human, something of old magic, of old descent. It probably has a family and friends and life. He doesn’t know how to take this. Of course, he doesn’t want to kill it. But it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a monster. They came all this way to shoot </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then he remembers his dream, the vampires who seemed so helpless and scared, but still… very frightening. He sees a more reasons towards not shooting it than actually doing the deed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet he is still... incredibly bored.</span>
</p>
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